Everything I know, I learned from making this film...

(Sorry, this post came out much longer than I had anticipated)


1. Sometimes, thing are meant to be – When I suggested doing this film to Paul Wagar at the Ark, I really didn’t think it would happen. I kept expecting someone to tell me no. Chairman told me in November at an IHOP in Vegas that it was time for this to happen. And that thought I should do it whether or not the Ark got involved. Zadra said over and over that this film was going to happen no matter what. My friend, Donna, called it a freight train. Once it got going, it wasn’t going to stop. And it didn’t. Even when I ran out of money and told my actors I couldn’t pay them right away, they all just shrugged and said, whatever. Pay us when you can. This is a film I’ve wanted to make for so long. and, yes, due to the extremely limited everything, a lot of sacrifices creatively had to be made, but in the long run, I think the film will be great. It was meant to happen now. It was meant to be a part of the cosmic “click” that seems (hopefully) about to happen in my life. I’m now finally in a position to take some changes, take the leap, embrace my destiny and follow it through. Meant to be.

2. I have amazing people in my life – This project couldn’t have happened without the participation of every single person, no matter how small their contribution, no matter how large their participation. Positive energy begets positive energy and can change the world… or at least part of it. From my incredibly generous parents who have paid for my midlife crisis to the incredible crew and cast to the friends and family who contributed in great and small ways, every single day of this process has shown me the wonder of the people around me. It’s so easy to forget that in the blackness of depression but it’s so wonderful to rediscover it after that blackness. The real test of those around me on this project was definitely our long last night of shooting. I was blessed throughout with short shoot days but Saturday was 23 pages in 12 hours. As we crept towards 4 AM, everyone was tired, everyone was punchy, Donna was definitely feeling the wear and tear of being in effects make-up and being “naked” and many other things. But no one bitched, no one complained. In fact, laughter rang constantly throughout the house and the cast even took time to make a fool of their humble director on camera (look for it on the DVD). So many new people on this crew that just fit together like we’d been working forever. I could have never made this project without that synergy. And I managed to sneak all three of my favorite guys into roles – AJ as Nick, the ex-husband (and he’s gonna be a huge star – not from this but the myriad of other projects he’s got going on), Peter in a small but lovely little snarky role as Howard, the movie executive, and my dearest Chairman as, what else, Prince Charming. I know I’m not the only one who sees him this way. These are the people I want to take with me as I move hopefully onwards and upwards from this project. They’re the ones that were there when I had nothing and needed everything. I want to give that back to them in spades.

3. There is no “we” and that’s okay – I spent the last 16 years of my life being forced to share the spotlight, whether I wanted to or not. It wasn’t always that way. My ex and I were so intertwined creatively for so long that almost everything we did was definitely “we.” I don’t mind sharing credit where credit is due. But as we moved in different directions creatively and I started making my own mark as a director, I kept being forced to find ways to include him in my success. It really hit me when I directed at USC for the Jerome Robbins One Act Playwriting Festival. A prestigious event, it was one of the first things I did outside of the Ark after I began to really find myself as a director. It was a fun and lovely piece and I was very pleased with the end result. Donna Allen, Greg Franklin and Phil Restivo were my wonderful actors and did me justice. I sat in the audience on judging night next to the head of the writing department, which was what the one acts are all about. It’s his show basically. He didn’t know I was the director of the one act he was watching. He laughed, he held his breath and he gasped at the end, which is just what I wanted. He turned to me when it was over and said, “Wow, that was the best show of the night. What a great production.” He couldn’t stop raving. I couldn’t stop smiling. I finally told him it was mine and he gushed even more. The gushing carried on into the lobby at the end of the night, praises I couldn’t even begin to absorb. Suddenly, my ex was beside me. Instead of saying, yes, she’s great, isn’t she, I’m so proud of her (as I had done for him countless times), he had to interject, “Well, I helped change the set because I had to be here for rehearsals because I had to drive her and I kind of got forced into helping…” and then the well-wishers smiled politely and walked away. This trend continued as my career opportunities increased that year. Slamdance reading – he found a way to interject himself into that and managed to get pictures of everyone else with Enrico Colantoni, our guest celebrity, except me. The next year and USC one acts again and the same thing. Over and over again, he forced me to find a way to give him credit for things he hadn’t done, for participation at its most minimal. I have spent the last 16 years saying “we” and being unable to say “I.” Even so on this project. I was so worried about making sure everyone got credit that I sometimes forget to include myself. Zadra and Chairman have been particularly good about pointing that out to me, none so clearly as a post on an industry board Chairman put up the morning after our last night of shooting. I had put up a post saying we were technically wrapped and that my co-producer, Chairman, had done his acting turn that night and gave him some credit for his participation. His post stopped me in my tracks. Basically, he said that his participation was mostly as cheerleader (such a great image in my mind) and that the film was 99.9% the result of my own blood, sweat and tears. Stopped me in my tracks. He was right. I pulled this thing together and, yes, there was help and there were others who contributed, but this film was mine. All mine. No one was going to step up and say, hey, you didn’t thank me, hey, you didn’t find a way to make this about me. I guess because Chairman was in the role that was usually taken by my ex, I expected conflict, I expected repercussions, I expected glory-hogging, because that’s what I was used to in a collaborator. Even on the set, when Chairman would have a suggestion or a thought, which, as a producer was his right, I would cringe, waiting for the conflict, waiting for the battle because that’s all I knew about dealing with a man that I was close to in that position. I forgot that Chairman and Paul and all of the others don’t see me the way my ex did. They see me as the artist, as capable, as the leader, as the person I want to be. They don’t need to take credit away because they are secure in themselves. They don’t need to diminish me in order to make themselves feel better. They don’t need to create conflict and disagreement just because they want it done their way. They respect me and treat me with that respect. They share in the accomplishment and participate in the process but they don’t hesitate to let me take the credit I deserve. Wow, that’s such a weird thing to experience. I think I could get used to this. I still find myself writing “we” when talking about the film. I guess I need to realize there’s no “I” in “we” and embrace the singularity of that credit.

3. I know what the hell I’m doing – That’s been a long time coming. As a director, I’ve grown into these shoes and feel very confident when I’m directing. I think I have a vision for each project and I’m learning more and more about what I want out of a project and how to achieve that. As a producer, I’ve always been told that I’m an amazing producer. I don’t know how not to put something together, even if it means staying up all night and building it myself. That was the biggest problem I had with one of the influential board members at the Ark last year on one of the shows. There were things going wrong and I felt that they were fixable but he tied my hands and told me to just let things break. I don’t let things break if I can help it. It gets me in trouble but it also means things get done. Inspired, not obsessive. This film was the ultimate culmination of all of that. It also almost killed me. I did everything. Find props, coordinate crew, coordinate shooting schedules and make sure everyone showed up where they should. Finding locations. Selecting wardrobe. Product placement. Craft service. Never mind the rest of producing and directing – fundraising, putting together the fundraiser, shot lists, storyboards, rehearsals. God, no wonder I’m exhausted. But I couldn’t say, hey, look what I did. Again, Zadra and Chairman gave me the equivalent of the sitcom slap to the back of the head. Having lunch with Zadra last Wednesday before our final shoot day, I said something to the effect of feeling that I wasn’t organized enough on this project, that somehow I could have done things better and been more prepared. Slap-in-the-back-of-the-head look. I think she said something akin to “are you nuts? You just shot 12 pages in 4 hours this weekend.” Oh, yeah. Later that night, I reiterated this refrain to Chairman. Again, that look. His response – “After Saturday, you’re going to have 7/8 of a feature film in the can. That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been organized enough.” Oh. Yeah. Right. I didn’t realize how solid and confident I felt in these shoes until our long Saturday night shoot. I had to juggle so much and rewrite on the fly and reconfigure shot after shot after shot and it was all up to me. Chairman was there for part of the night and I knew if I needed help or input, I could turn to him and say something and he would be there. I had my great DP, Beth, who offered suggestions but basically left the decisions up to me. And I never hesitated. I discovered that I know what I’m doing. I can do this. The biggest lesson I also learned was the value of that respect and that appreciation for me. During that long night, I would step off the set to check out my shot list/index card puzzle that I had created to make sure I knew what I was doing. I had my Ipod Nano stuffed with Bruce Hornsby because that music stimulates my creative brain. I would pop on my Ipod, listen while I played with my index card puzzle and figured out where to go next. The cast and crew left me alone. No one was tugging on my sleeve. Even as the hours grew long and late, that respect remained. They knew I had a lot to do and to figure out and they respected the earphones and let me do my work. At the end of the night, I sat down and cried, as I’ve mentioned previously. I couldn’t believe that I did this. I did this. There was help and there were supporters and there were a million other things but all of this came from me. I chose the people to be involved, I chose who to listen to and who not to. It was all mine.

This is where I’ve been trying to get these past three or four years. To find myself, to find my core, to stand firm in my Carlos Santanas and say, hey, this is me,
Susan Lee, director, producer, writer. I do this well. It is who I am. And I think I’m finally beginning to embrace that confidence, thanks to this film. These past few days, although I am exhausted, I feel a peace there, a comfort there with myself. I’m hoping this is the beginning of the best phase of my life, building on this confidence, growing this satisfaction and knowing that I don’t need to go back to that questioning, uncertain, wavering person I was and that it’s okay to say I’m great, I’m smart, I’m funny, I’m talented, I know what I’m doing. I’ll take suggestions but it’s all up to me.

Wow, that’s amazing. It’s all up to me.